Still bloom in the gardenGreen grass-plot, fresh lawn,Though pasture lands hardenAnd drought fissures yawn.While leaves not a few fall,Let rose-leaves for you fallLeaves pearl-strung with dew-fall,And gold shot with dawn.

Does the grass-plot rememberThe fall of your feetIn Autumn's red emberWhen drought leagues with heat,When the last of the rosesDespairingly closesIn the lull that reposesEre storm winds wax fleet ?

For the sake of past hours,For the love of old times,Take 'A Basket of Flowers,'And a bundle of rhymes ;Though all the bloom perishE'en your hand can cherish,While churlish and bearishThe verse-jingle chimes.

And Eastward by Nor'wardLooms sadly my track,And I must ride forward,And still I look back,—Look back—Ah, how vainly !For while I see plainly,My hands on the reins lieUncertain and slack.